


Cocoa Anniversary

by james



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-06-26 10:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19766764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: Even after 6,000 years and then some, wires do sometimes get crossed.





	Cocoa Anniversary

“Well, that was delightful,” Aziraphale said, pressing his napkin to his mouth, though he was fairly sure nothing so crude as crumbs were actually soiling his lips. Still, it was a nice way to signal to the wait staff he'd finished eating and could they come by with more wine and offerings of dessert.

Across the table sat Crowley, slouching backwards in his chair and watching each human as they went by, toying with a fork he'd not used at all, since indeed he'd had no plate of food. He never ordered food, though he was occasionally tempted to share a bite of cheesecake. Aziraphale had long since given up trying to convince him that it was perfectly all right to order anything off the menu he liked, even anything not on the menu as by some miraculous chance the kitchen would have one in the back they didn't remember ordering. 

He'd never so much as gotten Crowley to admit why he wouldn't eat – whether the demon simply didn't see the point as neither of them actually needed it, or if, as Aziraphale sometimes suspected, he'd never unlearned the trick of eating as a snake and had certain qualms about swallowing his food whole in front of Aziraphale. The angel had tried very tactfully to indicate that of course he didn't mind, was hardly bothered by such a thing and it wasn't as though the humans would notice if they didn't want them to. It remained a mystery, however, but Crowley drank willingly enough and never once turned down an offer to dine, so Aziraphale left it for something to investigate over the next few thousand years.

Tonight Crowley seemed a bit more restless than normal, and though he hadn't said anything to indicate why, Aziraphale had noticed a slight and mysterious bulge in his jacket pocket. Aziraphale toyed with the idea of ordering a second helping of the malai kofta to prolong the end of the meal, just to see if Crowley would lose his patience, then realised Crowley hadn't lost patience with him for over 6,000 years so fifteen more minutes wouldn't likely do it.

Aziraphale smiled at the waiter who filled their glasses and left a dessert menu, then he busied himself with looking it over as though he didn't know precisely what was on it and which he wanted. “Oh, they have crème brûlée,” he said, smiling at Crowley. “Do you remember that crème brûlée we had in New Orleans... or was it Old Orleans?” He frowned, because they'd dined in both cities more than once.

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted him, suddenly shifting forward in his chair to rest his arms on the table. But then he stopped, as though he'd changed his mind about whatever he'd wanted to say. Aziraphale watched in fascination, wondering if he would need to actually ask, or if Crowley would get on with it without provocation. Crowley's hand went down towards his pocket, and Aziraphale didn't deny to feeling some excitement to finally discover what it was Crowley had been so fidgety about all night.

“Yes?” he asked casually, as though he had no idea anything was the matter, and tapped the dessert menu right above the word 'Devil's Food Chocolate Mousse'. As if by some astounding chance, the waiter was immediately bringing one over without Aziraphale having to actually order it or wait for it to be plated. 

Aziraphale pretended not to notice Crowley gaping at it for a moment, before he narrowed his eyes. Instead of accusing him of ordering it on purpose, Crowley pulled a small, paper-wrapped item out of his jacket pocket and set it on the table.

“Oh, Crowley dear, you shouldn't have,” Aziraphale said demurely, though he was already setting down his fork and reaching for it.

“Well I just--” Crowley began, then stopped, watching as Aziraphale picked it up and pulled back on one corner of the wrapping. “You know, Happy Anniversary is all,” he said in a mumble, looking away as though none of this mattered, or was even happening.

Aziraphale paused, and frowned at him. “I'm sorry?”

“Happy Anniversary,” Crowley said, more distinctly but without looking back at him. His finger was tapping the tabletop, leaving tiny scorch marks in the linen.

Which didn't make any sense whatsoever. Aziraphale looked down at the box, did some math in his head. It wasn't the anniversary of the apocalypse that wasn't, that was three months from now if you wanted to observe it every year, which Aziraphale didn't think they did. It was dreadfully difficult to keep track of things one had to do every single year. But once a century was fine, easy enough to put on one's calendar and make plans for the occasion. If Crowley wanted to celebrate averting the apocalypse, they could easily pop in and visit Tadfield, or just find a quiet bed and breakfast and raise a toast. 

He couldn't think of anything else that had happened today in all of history, that – well obviously many things had happened on the second Thursday in October, even reckoning with all the calendar changes the humans had gone through. But none of them seemed to warrant Crowley giving him a present. “Anniversary of what?” he asked, still trying to think of what could possibly have happened.

Slowly, Crowley turned his head back to face Aziraphale. He stared – Aziraphale could see through his sunglasses well enough to see how Crowley's eyes were focused unblinking at him, like God Herself had appeared and asked for a taste of the mousse.

No, probably there would be more yelling and hiding under tables and maybe groveling, Aziraphale decided. But he had no idea what he'd done or said to warrant nervousness turning into this... _this._ “Happy Anniversary, you said?” he asked again, brightly, like his memory was being just a silly thing and it would turn out to be Johann Gerhard's birthday. 

“You... You don't....” Crowley kept staring at him, then clamped his jaw shut and glared at him.

“I'm sorry, Crowley, whatever today is, I don't recall.” Aziraphale tapped at the box, unsure if he should even open it, now.

Crowley's mouth opened, but he didn't say a word, then glared at the box until a small flicker of fire appeared on one side. Aziraphale frowned at it and it stopped burning immediately. Just because he didn't know what it was for didn't change the fact Crowley had gotten him a present, just like last year when he'd-- oh.

Oh.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said and he gave Crowley a smile which didn't seem to cheer the demon up in the slightest. “Do you remember last year when I got us tickets to that musical, Book of Mormon?”

“Yeah.” Crowley nodded and relaxed just the tiniest bit as he said, “Some of my best work, Mormons.”

“And before that, one hundred and _one_ years ago, we went to that little theatre in New York?”

'Which little... oh, that gaudy one, the vaudeville show?” Now Crowley smiled with genuine delight. “Yeah, I remember. You didn't care for it, I recall.”

“It was a bit vulgar for me, thank you,” Aziraphale said, distantly uncomfortable at the memory of the show they'd seen. Thankfully he hadn't bought tickets to one of those burlesque shows, though Crowley had told him all about them, later. Nothing wrong with delighting in the human form, of course, anything made in Her image was never shameful. But the thoughts and reactions of the _audience_ , well.

“So what has that got to do with-- Oh, bugger,” Crowley said. He looked down at the box. “One of us has got it wrong, then.” He looked back up at him with a slowly growing smile, and it was, thankfully, the warm, endearing look Aziraphale was so used to seeing. Crowley gave a small laugh. “One hundred years ago I gave you that book by Hosea,” he waved a hand as though the book were there, on the table.

“Perhaps we should sit down tonight and go over our maths,” Aziraphale suggested, relieved. “Our next anniversary, we should probably celebrate at the same time.”

The smile Crowley gave him was rather less warm and endearing, and much more...demonic. “I did have something in mind for tonight, but it isn't doing maths.”

“Does this mean I can open my present now?” 

His dessert was sitting on the table, completely forgotten, and he didn't think he could ask them to box it up for later. Well he could, humans did it all the time, but he had a vague sort of feeling he wouldn't get around to it until breakfast. 

“Go on,” Crowley told him, and Aziraphale peeled back the paper. Crowley always tore wrapping paper into pieces, which Aziraphale thought was a complete waste. Why wrap something in pretty paper if you were going to just destroy it? Crowley always muttered something about metaphors and the world when Aziraphale pointed that out. Aziraphale already had plans in motion for next time – one hundred or one hundred and one years from now. He was going to wrap Crowley's present in the most intricate and delicately designed wraps he could find, the most beautiful paper and some sort of origami-inspired folding around the box. 

He'd already visited a small town in Japan and dropped a hint or two about painting red filigree artwork onto some thick, black paper. A century from now there would be various schools of art dedicated to the mastery of it and he could find the best wrapping possible to tease Crowley with.

He got the paper off his own present and opened the small box. Inside were five brownish-pink beans. Aziraphale touched one. “Oh! They're cocoa beans.”

“Yeah, they finally got the new strain just right. I hope,” he added, not sounding at all nervous, though he was sitting very tensely, clearly waiting for Aziraphale's approval – or disapproval. “You fussed so much about the nacional bean that everyone else loved.”

“I like the criollo bean,” Aziraphale reminded him, nodding towards the chocolate dessert on the table, made from that very cocoa bean.

“You're welcome,” Crowley said, tilting his head. “But you still fuss a bit, and I... er, took some more notes. Talked to a few farmers, and, well. I hope you like it.”

“I'm sure I will,” Aziraphale clutched the box of beans and tried to think of how soon he could get a cup of hot cocoa made from them, to see what Crowley's intervention had created this time. He'd known, 1500 years ago, that Crowley had had something to do with the new strain of cocoa bean, but at the time he hadn't any idea why the demon would do such a thing. Now, of course, it was all perfectly obvious.

He wondered if they should simply go home now, dessert be damned. It did seem a shame to rush anything, so he picked up his fork and cut a bite. He held it out to Crowley. “Would you care for some mousse?”

Crowley gave him a look which said everything – told Aziraphale exactly what Crowley's plans for later involved – and the demon leaned forward. He touched the tip of the fork with his tongue, licked the smallest possible bite, then, with his eyes firmly on Aziraphale, he swallowed the bite whole.


End file.
